The tinkling of four golden coins grabbed everyone attention. That was the reward the foreigner threw across the table. Will that gang of idlers be brave enough to face off – that very night – the gods of the storm?
All eyes turned to the man who stood up to count them before bursting into laughter.
He grabbed hold of his hat and flung the door open giving voice to the angry wind of the night. Once on the doorstep, he hesitated and when the door got shut abruptly, he was still in. He came back to the candle light with no more hint of irony on his face. “You can’t even image what it is like in the eye of the storm” he said to the foreigner “how could you understand anything like the resentment of the sky, the eternal agitation of the sea, the aversion the wind has felt to the earth since the very first day? Oh no, you can’t. Go away. It’s not your business, it’s ours”.
“I see” the foreigner replied “but I cannot bear the idea of a place where there’s no room for me”.